It's All In Your Head
by Twiddlesticks
Summary: Bluellan, the scout's mother, finds herself in a strange world where strange things happen. What the heck is going on? Floating gloves? Endless black hallways? Snowy courtyards? Mysterious! /First fic, enjoy the fantasy/


**Hey there you crazy kids! This is my first story uploaded here! Wow! That's ominous! But take a look. It might be good. So. Onwards!**

Bluellen stood very still in the black space.

She looked upwards at the two, round holes that let a little of the mauve light from the outside world penetrate this otherworldly darkness.

She pivoted to look behind her. It was black there, also. She turned back around to look at the two openings, like portholes above her. Below her a small, steady stream of muted symbols danced along in a drowsy way. They smelled like the room outside. Warm, wooden and smokey. Even below that, a draft drifted rhythmically along in the dark. Some of it drifted upwards and brushed her legs, rustling her skirt.

She turned around once more, and there was a speck of light in the blackness behind her. She decided that moving towards that would be her best option. She walked briskly towards the light, which developed into a shadowy landscape.

Half-formed suggestions of surroundings presented themselves. Sometimes they seemed like a sunny day, other times like the cold slash of something sharp. Then the background seemed solidify somewhat into a dark forrest. And yet the trees were all coat stands, hung with garments of muted colour...

Her arms brushed the soft growths of jacket and they felt heavy and expensive. Touching them sparked their hues and for a moment a bright flash of sea-green or apple-red would dazzle her eyes.

Suddenly, a great, dark wardrobe loomed out of the dimness. As she approached, the door swung open to admit her. Inside seemed to be an entirely new room, although from the outside the proportions of the wardrobe could not possible contain it.

She stepped inside and the doors swung closed behind her. She seemed to be standing in a long aisle, with rows upon rows of expensive clothing lining the walls. The floor was furnished with a luminous white carpet, and the walls were a deep marine blue. Bluellen felt a tap on her shoulder. She turned to see a pair of floating white gloves. One waved her forwards and the other pointed insistently at a particular section of clothing. She stepped forwards cautiously, and the gloves rifled through the coat-hangers and finally selected a beautiful white gown. The gloves drifted over to her and held it up to her body. The wall in front of her was suddenly a mirror. She looked into it and gasped slightly, for she looked absolutely stunning! Her raven hair fell perfectly around her pink, heart-shaped face, and her iris-coloured eyes sparkled in a very fetching way.

The mirror popped back out of existence and the gloves hung the gown on a floating hanger. They then proceeded to undress her, hanging her clothes on another floating hanger. They left her for a moment in stark-nakedness, and then helped her into her new outfit, clipping a pair of small white disk-shaped earrings onto her ears and sliding a white, lily-adorned hairband into her hair. When she was finished, the gloves elongated into a pair of women's gloves, and slid themselves gracefully onto her arms.

The phantom mirror had returned, and she looked at herself again, admiring how the gown rustled elegantly when she moved, and the white complimented her dark hair and eyes

Suddenly, a rectangular doorframe burst into existence at the end of the isle with a loud bang, startling Bluellen and causing the rows of clothing to vanish.

All that was left was the luminous carpet and the doorframe.

She walked towards it, careful not to step off of the carpet for fear of tumbling into the blackness below.

Outside the doorframe, she found herself in a snowy courtyard, with a crescent of stone benches to her left and a fence to her right, with glowing yellow street-lamps on either side.

She stood for a few moments, breathing in the sharp, clean smell of snow and watching the huge, fat snowflakes fall silently and beautifully onto the icy pavement.

A figure appeared out of the darkness on the far side of the courtyard. He appeared to have come from a clump of dense trees. As he approached, she recognized him and her heart leapt a little bit at the sight of her beau...

But the closer he got, the more she saw was... 'off' about him. He was taller than she remembered him to be, nearly greater than the height of his Australian colleague, and handsomer too. He was so much less, but also so much more. His positive aspects were enhanced enormously, and his negative aspects reduced to almost nothing. A cigarette poked from between his lips, and the smoke formed the most intricate and intriguing patterns in the frozen air.

"Salut, petite." he said, and his voice was deeper and richer than it could ever be in real-life. "What are you doing in the snow dressed so lightly? Are you not afraid that you'll catch a cold?"

She wanted to tell him that the fluttering white gown had not been her idea, and that a pair of supernatural gloves had dressed her in this silly way. But instead her lips and vocal chords could only collaborate to form the words "I came from a party. It was warm, there."

Her voice was sweeter, and more melodious than it had ever sounded. He was standing only a few paces away from her now.

"But then why did you come out into the gardens, surely you knew it was snowing."

She tried to say that she had not come from a party, and that she didn't know it was snowing because she hadn't been able see the outside of the door frame until too late. But once again she said only "I wanted some fresh air... It isn't so cold out here."

"But Mademoiselle, you are shivering!"

She realized that she was. Light tremors passed up and down her body. The coldness suddenly seemed very deep. Perhaps she just hadn't noticed before. Perhaps it had only started when it was suggested.

The man shook his head gently. "No no, this won't do."

He took off his jacket and draped it around her shoulders. Her hands, or perhaps the gloves around them, automatically pullet it tighter around her. She was now enveloped in warmth, and the rich, expensive jacket smell filled her nostrils and warmed her arms, sweeter and heavier than any real jacket could be.

"Thank you." she uttered, and he smiled warmly at her. She felt her cheeks colour, not with blood as was the natural case, but with pigment, like in a painting. Her cheeks had filled with the softest, daintiest carnation pink.

"If you do not mind me inquiring," he asked, "what kind of party were you at, Mademoiselle?"

"A ball."

"And am I correct in saying that you were undoubtedly the belle?"

The pink in her cheeks became more intense. They were closing in on french rose.

"I sat by myself, actually." she said.

"I find that impossible." he said.

He offered an arm, and the gloves tugged one of her own to link with his.

"You're bold, sir." she told him, looking up into his face.

"Not bold enough... I confess I espied your ball from a distance, and thought of entering, disguised."

Her glove went to her mouth, and she let out a little gasp.

"But you were smart! If you had tried to enter without an invitation you would be killed!"

"No," he said, "I would not have been slain, for I am a man who is proficient in the arts of entering and exiting a place subtly..."

"You are a spy?!" she cried, as if the revelation was news to her. She knew that he was a spy. He had told her himself, in a fit of false-modesty.

She was aware that there was something very wrong about this entire scenario. She wanted to fight back, but it seemed impossible. She didn't seem to have any control over herself, but perhaps, if the setting became once again undefined...

"My profession goes by many names... Gentleman, Rogue, Scoundrel... But yes indeed, I am a spy. You guessed very quickly, you are intelligent, as well as lovely."

She turned away from him, her head yanked to the side as if by a hand and her cheeks filled with crimson-rose.

"Where are we going?" she asked, as if to cover her embarrassment. She realized that she had meant that question entirely, and the words had not been put into her mouth.

He stopped walking for a moment, and the snowflakes seemed to slow. The gloves on her arms sagged slightly. The world dimmed. She felt freer now. She wondered if the question had been unexpected. Perhaps he didn't actually know where they were going and had meant for them to just walk on a snowy expanse for ever...

She found her voice.

"What are you doing?" she said.

"Moi? Oh, I'm just... thinking..." his voice tried to regain the feeling of mystique and power but he was still unsure of how to proceed. She freed herself from his grip and walked around him to face him.

"What's going on? Why did you put us in this snowy courtyard? Why am I wearing this white dress? Did you pick it?"

He stared at her, mouth open in surprise, a guilty expression coming over his face.

"I–" he stammered, "I–"

He seemed to be diminishing, shrinking before her eyes, returning to his natural height. His voice had lost the magical quality and he was less... But also more. More himself.

"Bluellen, stop! You're ruining my day-dream!" he cried, a whiny edge entering his comparatively rough and shallow voice.

"Why do you change in your daydream? Why do I change?"

Her hair was becoming limper and heavier, loose strands escaped her bouffant like they normally did. Her gown and his jacket were fading slowly back into a blue dress.

"Because– Because–" a pained expression spread over his face. "Because I can change here! Because I can be what ever I want in here."

"And me? Can I be what ever I want?"

"No." he sniffed, "It's MY imagination. Here, you're mine..." he trailed off, looking sheepish. Then he turned violently around and crossed his arms defiantly, yelling, "I don't have to listen to you! You're a woman!"

She glared. "And what difference does that make?!"

Her voice was back to normal now, and it bubbled with anger.

He turned around slowly, guilt making him flush red with blood.

She stood with her hands on her hips. There was no snow. No courtyard. Only blackness.

He sank to his knees and then curled up. Bluellen rolled her eyes and shook her head. She crouched beside him a put an arm around him. It was surprising how real he felt.

"You're such a suck. Just like my son." she said softly. "You throw temper tantrums when you don't get your way. But I've mothered eight kids and I'm not going easy on you."

"I'm not... confident. In here." he said. She didn't reply. He sat up a little. "That's why... well." He waved his hand and for a moment the blackness was penetrated by a wash of scenery, thick with expensive smells and colours.

"You put on a big show."

"Yes. Tell me... do you love me?"

"Of course I do."

"Say it?"

"I love you?"

"Again?"

"...I love you..?"

"One more time?"

"I love you, ya big lug."

"Ahh. That's better. They had both stood up. "I guess... it's back to reality?"

She smiled a little sadly and nodded. "Yep."

"But I'll pay you a visit. I've been meaning to..."

"That would be nice..." a little blue shock of surprise and pleasure made her smile.

Grey clouds were gathering and swirling around the two figures.

"Oh, and Bluellen?"

"Yeah?"

"Je t'aime, aussi."

A moment later, the two people awoke in very different predicaments. The Frenchman awoke to the sound of a ticking clock. He was laying in his base on a couch. He had slept in an awkward position and his neck and back ached immensely. He sat up to rub them and he glanced over at another man sitting in an armchair across from him.

"You're awake."

"Ouais."

"I didn't want to wake you." The man looked grave.

"What is the matter?"

"You're girl friend's had a bit of an accident."

Meanwhile, Bluellen found herself in a very white, very clean room. A man with glasses was bending over her. She raised a hand to feel her head gingerly. It was wrapped in white bandages.

"You were dreaming, Madam."

"Was I..?"

"Ja."

"Where am I?"

"Medical bay."

"Why?"

"Your son is here to see you."

"Oh."

The boy entered, trying to hide his tears.

"Ma!"

"Hiya sweety."

"Ma, when you fell, we thought yous was dead–"

"I fell?"

"Well yeah, you was walking up to meet us and your heel broke and you fell down the slope–"

"It did?"

"You don't remember?!"

The day dream... so vivid, so many colours and smells. Someone she loved, very much. But there was also someone she loved equally holding her hand now with a distraught expression on his young face. She tried to remember. A hazy memory swam into view.

"Oh... Yeah..."

"Your alright!" he cried, and tried to hug her.

"Be gentle, stupid boy!" cried the man in the round glasses, pulling him away, "She is fragile!"

"You take that back! My Ma ain't fragile!"

She watched the boy collar the older man. "Stop it! You're upsetting me!"

He let go of the man and pouted. "Sorry Ma."

"Go get your poor mother something to drink." she said.

"Yes Ma."

He left. The man with the spectacles gave her an approving glance, and then strode away to find something.

She stared at the white ceiling. A dream?

No.

It had been... too real. Too... strange. And he had said that he was going to visit her... That would prove to her if it had been a hallucination or not. She tried not to get her hopes up, she tried not to get excited.

She focused on the more alarming thought: If he DID come, did that mean she had had a... what did they call them... An out-of-body experience? Had the injury been that extreme?

Had it all been in her head... or had she been in his?

**Eyep, and there you go. Comment if you feel it necessary. I suppose constructive criticism might be helpful! Hope you enjoyed this little bonk trip, yours truly: Twiddlesticks :)**


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